Viking: Master of the Icy Sea

Chapter 349: Troop Replenishment

Since the outbreak of the war, the British army had suffered four thousand permanent casualties (killed in action, deceased from illness, and severely wounded).

Upon receiving directives from the frontline, the Cabinet convened a meeting to discuss the next phase of troop and equipment replenishment.

Prime Minister Mitcham proposed a rigid quota. "By next spring, ten thousand soldiers must be transported to Cherbourg. What are your thoughts on this?"

The Minister of War responded, "Nobles from various regions are continuously sending knights and militia, estimating around six thousand and five hundred men. There are also six hundred Pechenegs undergoing training in the northern suburbs. The remaining quota of three thousand can be distributed across the twelve directly governed counties. With less than three hundred men required from each county, it remains an acceptable burden."

'They still want to draft more laborers?'

The Minister of Agriculture and Education, Kemi Wildfire, paled in alarm. With over fifty thousand soldiers fighting abroad, domestic agricultural output had already been severely impacted. If more personnel were drafted and a shortage of grain occurred, the King would undoubtedly hold him accountable.

Kemi glanced at his colleagues on either side. After a moment of silence, he proposed recruiting mercenaries from regions like Finland, Pomerania, and Livonia to make up the numbers.

"Our current financial revenues and expenditures are barely balanced," the Prime Minister stated. "We cannot afford the extra funds to hire mercenaries."

Kemi Wildfire countered, "First of all, the spoils of war shipped back from the frontline can be exchanged for five thousand pounds. Secondly, with our recent string of major victories, we can take advantage of the high morale among the populace to issue a second batch of war bonds, raising another ten thousand pounds. That would be enough to hire over six thousand irregulars. Assigning this group to handle sieges and urban warfare would be far more cost-effective."

At this moment, the Minister of Industry, seated across the long table, spoke up in support. "The directly governed counties only have a population of nine hundred and thirty thousand. The mining districts, shipyards, and military equipment arsenals also require a massive workforce. If we draft more personnel, it won't just be agriculture that suffers."Taking these multiple factors into consideration, the Prime Minister agreed to expand the scale of mercenaries.

The Frankish territory was vast, and the war was expected to last for at least two years; sooner or later, they would have to recruit foreign cannon fodder. Moreover, the Battle of Dunwall Manor had yielded a bountiful harvest. Out of the eight thousand-plus sets of armor captured, over six thousand were in reparable condition, making them perfect for equipping the newly recruited soldiers.

"However," he brought up a critical issue:

"Winter sea conditions are extremely poor, making the transportation of thousands of troops from Eastern Europe too high of a risk. If we delay until next spring and then transport them to Londinium for training, they won't reach Cherbourg until May at the earliest. I fear this will delay the frontline operations."

Silence lingered in the room for a few minutes before the Crown Prince suggested having the mercenaries train locally on Gotland. That way, once spring arrived, there would be no need to transport them to Londinium; they could be shipped straight to the frontline.

This plan was highly feasible, and the ministers voiced no objections. The meeting then moved on to the next topic on the agenda—New World affairs.

With the outbreak of the great war, the nation had temporarily lost interest in the New World. The Prime Minister briefly read through the reports from the three settlements. The population in each area was roughly the same, only hovering around three or four hundred people, and they had currently made contact with very few native tribes.

"Are there any other questions?"

The Prime Minister was about to conclude the topic when the Minister of Overseas Affairs hurriedly interjected. "The pearls provided by the Caribbean Governor are tremendously valuable. I believe we can allocate a few more people to him."

Sensing the absentmindedness of the others, the Minister of Overseas Affairs kept it brief. "There are eighteen thousand captives imprisoned on Jersey. Allocating a few hundred of them to be transported to the New World would be of no loss to us whatsoever."

Growing impatient with the man's persistence, the Prime Minister waved his hand. "Next year, in April and June, the Navy will dispatch ships to the New World. They can bring along some captives then. Let us leave it at that."

The Cabinet meeting lasted until noon. The Crown Prince made his way to the dining hall for lunch. With his third brother, Greger, currently studying at the Royal Court Academy, only the Queen and the Crown Prince couple remained in the dining hall, making the meal seem especially desolate.

After lunch, the Crown Prince reviewed the official documents sent over by the various departments. He had grown accustomed to this workload by now, yet a lingering sense of disappointment remained in his heart. He had missed the chance to personally witness that massive, decisive battle involving tens of thousands of men.

The following day, the Kestrel and two brigantines sailed out from the docks. They had two primary missions:

To travel to Funen Island to observe the current situation of the Northern European Allied Forces, and to transport military equipment and funds to Gotland to recruit Eastern European mercenaries.

Enduring the atrocious sea conditions, the fleet spent half a month rounding the Jutland Peninsula before finally entering the Kattegat Strait.

Half a year ago, the army led by the Carloman brothers had captured Skagen at the northern tip of the peninsula, completely occupying the entirety of Jutland. The Northern European Allied Forces had retreated to Funen Island, engaging in a standoff with the Frankish army across the narrow Little Belt Strait.

The strait was a mere eight hundred meters at its narrowest point and reached up to twenty-eight kilometers at its widest. Fortunately, the water was deep enough for the Baltic Fleet to blockade the surface, preventing the Franks from using small boats to cross the sea and attack the combat-ineffective Allied Forces.

'The Allied Forces are cowering on that island doing absolutely nothing. They are simply wasting our grain.'

Harboring such thoughts, Colonel Hadvar steered the Kestrel toward Zealand Island, docking at the port town on the eastern side of the island—Copenhagen.

A pale sun hung overhead, offering not a single trace of warmth. The biting, freezing wind swept across the deck, provoking low curses from the crew.

Over thirty ships were anchored at the docks, their hulls coated in a thin layer of grayish-white ice. A few dockworkers, bundled up in puffy layers, shrank their necks against the cold as they stiffly unloaded the meager cargo. The white puffs of their breath were instantly torn to shreds by the wind.

Upon learning of the Navy's arrival, Earl Farvel hurried to the docks to warmly welcome the three captains and their military officers.

Pushing open the heavy oak doors of the lord's longhouse, a wave of heat mixed with the scents of cooked meat, ale, sweat, and woodsmoke rushed over them. The officers' spirits were instantly lifted. Several thick logs burned vigorously in the corner fireplace, the bright orange flames dancing and emitting the occasional soft crackle.

After taking his seat, Hadvar unfastened his thick fur coat. He downed two cups of warm ale in quick succession, took a massive bite out of a fish pie, and asked about the recent battle situation.

Farvel replied, "The Allied Forces only have four thousand men left. Half are stationed on Funen Island, and the other half are stationed here on Zealand Island. Without the British army to support them, the coalition's morale has hit rock bottom. They are only fit for defensive warfare and can't play much of a role otherwise.

"Over a month ago, the news regarding the Battle of Dunwall Manor reached Northern Europe, yet it still failed to boost the coalition's fighting spirit. Instead, it gave them a sense of complacency—they figured that rather than fighting to the death, they might as well stall for time and let Your Majesty handle the Frankish army all on his own."

Listening to the Earl's complaints, Hadvar's expression turned grave. He silently finished his fish pie and found a warm room to rest.

That night, a severe cold wave swept southward, causing the temperature in Copenhagen to plummet. Hadvar decided to stay for a few more days and wait until the weather warmed up slightly before setting sail again.

Five full days passed, yet the cold wave showed no signs of ending. In fact, the temperature dropped even lower. A thick layer of snow blanketed the ground. The crew members huddled up in their warm rooms, playing cards and chess, lacking even the slightest desire to head out to sea.

"Phew. In all my years, this is the first time I've ever encountered such a freezing drop in temperature."

After taking a short stroll outside, Hadvar returned to the lord's longhouse, idling the entire day away doing absolutely nothing. That night, as he fell asleep with his arms wrapped around the warm body of a maidservant, he suddenly felt that this kind of life was quite pleasant. Sticking around for a bit longer wouldn't be so bad after all.